


Unfortunate Incidents

by Corvus_Aconitum



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Hank being an awesome friend, Nick Whump, Renard as mentor, Sean the reluctant care bear, Snark, comradeship/ friendship, cursing and swear words, evil cold from hell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-07-16 06:35:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7256383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corvus_Aconitum/pseuds/Corvus_Aconitum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you're a Grimm and a Homicide Detective accidents do happen... Nick prefers to call them unfortunate incidents, Hank calls them... opportunities to see his boss in reluctant care bear mode. a series of more or less unrelated oneshots, shameless Nick Whump/ Sean takes care<br/>Chapter  3: Home Remedies</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. This Prickly Feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick, Hank and Renard meet some rather violent insect wesen... gaining a whole lot of trouble for Nick and much work for Hank and the Captain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This oneshot is set roughly in the second half of season two. Juliette already has her memories back but Nick and Sean still have some trust issues.

This Prickly Feeling:

Nick is standing in some dingy warehouse, tightly gripping a rusty rail for support and waiting for Hank and Captain Renard to return from cuffing crazy and thank God, unconscious wesen to something sturdy enough to hold them once they regain consciousness.

He would have helped but somehow he cannot bring himself to move anytime soon... or ever.

This morning all’s been well...

and has been steadily going downhill from there.

They have found a good lead on a crime scene and the Captain – since he’s been there anyway – tagged along once it became clear this was wesen related.

Thus the warehouse, a short but intense fight, and Nick’s dilemma:

Six stingers of God knows what insect like wesen – each about index finger length – are currently sticking out of the Grimm’s back where he cannot even reach to pluck them out.

Of course, they are also everything you do not want things, sticking out of your body, to be:

Poisonous (as Renard informed him neutrally before going off with Hank and reassuring them both that Nick is in no immediate danger of dying), extremely painful –jup, he can certainly attest to that one – and what makes things worse, going to be even more painful because of the poisonous part!!

“These need to be pulled out as soon as possible.” Nick jumps in surprise, whirls around. He has not noticed the man approaching and glares at his Captain for being a sneaky bastard and for making him move when it hurts like hell to do so! Apparently Hank is still out doing whatever their boss has ordered him to do.

“Do you have to startle me like this? But hey, if I die from shock I won’t have a problem with poisoning anymore.” His zauberbiest Captain just raises an eyebrow at this.

“Will you let me have a look at your back now?” Nick hesitates briefly. Technically they are still in a state of barely trusting each other but Nick’s options are limited to say the least. Because, let’s face it, Hank doesn’t know a thing about what they have faced, Nick himself has not yet seen a wesen like this in his books and that leaves the Captain as his only source of information.

With a small sigh – as if steeling himself – he turns his back toward the other man. Nick bites his lip to keep from making a sound when Renard steps up closely behind him and carefully rips open his shirt where stingers went through fabric.

_Ou, ouch, uuh... that hurts!_

Slightly calloused fingertips touch reddened, abused skin, prod the slightest bit...

_Arrrgh, PAIN!_

His Detective instantly recoils from his touch, emitting a low, most likely unintended moan of discomfort. He doesn’t turn away from him, though, or steps away, just looks over his shoulder less than pleased. Interesting.

“These definitely need to be pulled out.” Sean repeats his earlier assessment completely unfazed by another black glare the Grimm sends his way.

“Knowing how much it hurt when you barely touched my skin I’m sooo looking forward to...!”

Renard’s hand shoots out before Nick can even begin to comprehend and pulls out the top most thorn – all with the speed of something inhuman and the precision of a surgeon.

_Hell!! Scratch pain... A FUCKING WHOLE LOT OF PAIN!!!_

The next thing Nick knows is that he’s on the floor – on his knees and barely holding up – after his legs haven given way from sheer pain. If he could have breathed, he would have cursed colourfully. As it is, trying not to faint is taking up all of his energy. Well, he can murder his superior officer with his eyes even while catching his breath so that has to do it for now.

“I think you should sit down for this. It will only get worse the longer we wait.”

“Okay, okay. Just give... me a damn minute to get up.”

“I’ll even give you a hand up.”

“Oh that’s so _very_ nice of you”, Nick hisses snarkily but takes the hand Renard holds out to him. At some point Hank has returned and eyes his boss and his partner with barely concealed amusement.

“I’m your Captain, I’m meant to be supportive.”

“How come then, that you are not?”

“I’m preventing you from being further poisoned. I’m quite sure that constitutes supportiveness.” Nick only snorts at this.

Actions totally belying exchanged barbs, the Captain leads his Detective to an old storage box – grip on his upper arm tight and his stance more than a bit protective. Even more protective than either of them realises, Hank thinks, as he observes their slow progress through the room. Nick can barely move – not without suffering great pain, anyway – and by now looks like he’s feeling more than a bit woozy. Their boss seems to know this and thus, watches every move of his Grimm like a hawk (or mother hawk if anyone were to ask Hank for assessment).

As Nick is finally instilled sitting on the box Hank takes that as his cue to announce his presence:

“Nick, play nice. The Captain is just trying to help and you are behaving like a toddler.”

“So not doing that.” His younger partner mumbles while giving his zauberbiest Captain reluctant access to his back. He even leans forward a bit, elbows resting on his thighs. Renard and Hank exchange looks that literally go over Nick’s head before the Royal proceeds to pluck out those very irksome stingers. If their local Grimm howls in pain once or twice nobody mentions it.

>>> 

Afterwards Nick is not entirely sure if maybe he’s passed out sometime during the whole ordeal but he knows – and oh how that smarts to admit – that Renard’s firm grip on his left shoulder is about the only thing keeping him sitting on the rickety box.

“Now that we’re past this, the wounds need to be washed out.” It takes a bit for the words to register in his mind but when they do, Nick can only groan loudly.

“You just like to torture this insolent, cocky Grimm, who’s had the audacity to settle down in your canton and still not follow you every order!”

“Now that you mention it....” The Prince deadpans dispassionately but his smirk could rival the devil’s.

“Well, will you let me do it?” Hank is sure neither of them is aware but despite their difference in power Captain Renard asks for permission every time he’s about enter Nick’s personal space and comfort zone.

“By all means, do it.”

Sean turns to Hank then.

“Can you go and find out, if there are any pipes in the building still producing water?”

“Sure thing, Captain.” And with that Hank goes off in search of something even remotely resembling clear water. While Nick shoots his superior confused and slightly peevish looks, Sean waits patiently for him to finally spit out the question he obviously has.

“Why did you ask me, if I was okay with you washing out the wounds, when you didn’t even know there was water to begin with?”

“No sense having Hank fetch water, if you refuse to let me use it.” He replies with an untypical one sided shrug.

“No problem. If it isn’t necessary after all, I’m all for skipping this whole cleaning business, you know?”

“Believe me, it is.” There’s enough seriousness in the Royal’s smooth voice for Nick to take him at face value but still....

“Then why did you ask in the first place? Argh! Okay, I admit defeat! I’m officially out of this one. Do what you want, just make sure I don’t die along the way.” Nick shakes his head in bewilderment making the smallest of smiles appear on Renard’s aquiline features.

“Anything important happened? Why did Nick say he’s out?” Hank queries while carrying a bucket full of water into the room.

“Oh, he meant that literally.”

“How so?”

“He’s going to pass out in....” The tall man gazes at his wrist watch. “... a quarter of an hour if my estimation is correct.” The Grimm and the royal bastard exchange a long neutral look, for once completely understanding each other.

“And despite behaving like a toddler and exchanging snark with me he knows this very well. Thus, him saying he’s out.”

“Oh, okay.”

“ _So_ not doing that”, Nick slurs from his spot on the box. Hank laughs, gazing fondly at his partner.

“Not doing what, acting like a toddler or passing out?” Nick only grumbles something unintelligible, which the Captain takes as his cue to take the bucket from Hank.

“Actually I’m not sure this will make it any better” Hank tells his boss in a stage whisper.

“At least I waited until it turned from murky brown to clear but other than that I’m not sure.”

“It will have to do.” The Grimm gives off a last “Errgh!!” at Hank’s admission before giving himself over to the mercy of his ‘caretakers’. Later he’s not sure if he’s fainted before or after Renard has started to wipe out his wounds with semi clean water and a handkerchief but he remembers well a feeling of foreboding when the tall man steps behind him once more to begin his work.

>>> 

When he wakes up it is on his couch. He’s instantly sure it’s _his_ couch because after that whole Juliette memory loss disaster he’s more familiar with this piece of furniture than he’s ever wanted to be. Hank lounges in an armchair, beer in hand, looking quite comfy.

“Good to know you’re not wanting for anything.” Nick’s voice is gravelly from disuse – and maybe from screaming a few times while Renard has tortured... errr... patched him up. He rubs sleep from his eyes and makes a first attempt at sitting up, _real_ slow. Doing so is painful but not as bad as moving was before. There are also bandages wrapped around his shoulder and torso.

Hank gives a huff of laughter at his remark but generally just looks relieved that his partner is awake and reasonably well again.

“Sorry, buddy. You were not ‘here’ to ask, you know? So what’s a guy to do?”

“I would offer you one, but the Cap’ left me with detailed instructions for your care, so sorry, alcohol is a big no-no.” At first Hank holds the second bottle of microbrew out of reach but a truly fearsome (which translates to pity inducing puppy Grimm eyed) stare takes care of that.

“That sounds way too much like an extract from ‘How-to-take-care-of-your-pet-Grimm-Monthly’. “ Nick is clever enough not to lean back into the couch. That wouldn’t go over well giving how battered his back is right now.

“And anyway, since when is our Captain an expert on wesen illnesses and cures, ... apart from being haft-zauberbiest and generally the villainous type?” He grins bemusedly and takes a nice long swig from his beer.

“I heard this, Detective.” Nick spews his microbrew all over the table as Renard steps into the room.

“Captain!!”

“And don’t even think about drinking the rest of that. As Hank apparently cannot be trusted to hold you up to follow my instructions, it seems I have to stay overnight.” The tall man heaves a silent sigh before pinning both of his detectives with a stern glare. Only when they look down like chastised schoolboys and Nick puts the full bottle away does their zauberbiest Captain retire to the second armchair with a book in hand.

“Should I have mentioned he’s still here?”

“I don’t know, _maybe_?!” Hank ignores the heavy sarcasm with practised ease while Nick ignores his big teasing grin with the same practice.

“And, Sir, is this _my_ crime novel you are reading there?”

The man slowly looks up with what Nick can only describe as completely infuriating royal aloofness.

“What an astute observation, Detective. I’m impressed. And now, lie back down and get a good night’s sleep. Of course, if you want to feel heavily hung over tomorrow, you are free to ignore me.”

“If you knew this couch you wouldn’t call it a good night’s sleep but if you insist... who am I to disobey the ruler of this canton?” Finally a mischievous gleam has re-entered Nick’s eyes.

Shaking his head in exasperation Sean lowers his gaze back to ‘his’ book.

“Impudent Grimm... should have tortured him after all.”

Those last muttered words have Nick scowling and Hank chortling with laughter.

“You already did this so there’s no ‘should have’.”

“Really? Last time I checked torture didn’t include health benefits for the victim.”

Before Nick can respond to that one, Hank speaks up:

“Well, now that you’re all set for the night, I’m off. Have a nice evening.” He makes a hasty retreat before Nick can voice any of his no doubt colourful protests.

Sean smirks inwardly. All in all the day has been more enjoyable than he’s expected:

A bit of outdoor activity as opposed to meetings and paperwork, torturing, teasing and saving his Grimm Detective, generally scaring the shit out of his subordinates... yes, quite enjoyable.

When he looks back up from his novel some time later he finds Nick sprawled out on the sofa – lying half on his stomach to keep weight off his back – deeply asleep and ostensibly quite content to rest while his villainous Captain watches over him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing snarky Nick and deadpan Sean was fun! :D Hopefully you had a little fun, too. And yes, I freely admit I'm a 'Sean takes care of injured Nick' addict!


	2. Hop along 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes field work just sucks. It could have been so easy... if not for another unfortunate incident.  
> Characters featuring:  
> Nick Burckhardt  
> Sean Renard
> 
> Chapter warnings:  
> cursing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What can I say, here are sprained ankles and serious talk about bunnies!

Their plan is destined to succeed, its outline clear and easy to follow. After hearing Wu’s report on a second victim and having a look at the crime scene, Nick calls Hank and they discuss plans. Still on crutches and thus not able to brave muddy hellish forest roads Hank will begin to interview witnesses and possible suspects while Nick and the Captain will revisit the place where their first victim has been found.

Wu drives back to precinct while Nick takes a ride with Renard. So far so good. Luck begins to run out when they get to a point where even Renard’s powerful SUV cannot pass the muddy thing that once has been called a forest track. They are about 3 miles from their destination but they are nothing if not determined.

“Up for a hike?” The Captain raises an elegant eyebrow in challenge as he turns to look at his Grimm.

“Always. But are you, Sir? No offence, but you are the one who usually does the talking and politics... not this....” The Grimm Detective makes a sweeping gesture encompassing all of that muddy track of hell in front of them.

“Careful, Detective. You might be surprised.”

“Or maybe not. Hank and I have seen you in gym a few weeks ago... I think I believe you when you say you’re ready.” With a lopsided grin Nick exits the car and leads the way toward their destination.

It could have been so easy....

If it hadn’t been for what happens half an hour later:

Nick is completely focused on his task of searching in a group of bushes for a similar token like they have found near the second victim. It’s been left there deliberately and looks to be some kind of message, which leads them to search for a similar one here. Nothing has been found the first time forensics searched the place but then again it’s been raining for ten days straight and maybe they’ve simply missed it before. Now that they know what they are looking for the situation presents itself quite differently.

Thus, Nick is practically crawling through greenery, gaze pinned to the ground and otherwise oblivious to his surroundings. Even when Renard cautions him that right after that line of bushes follows a steep slope he doesn’t react.

Well, what can he say, accidents _do_ happen. While the zauberbiest Prince is searching another part of the crime scene Nick goes farther and farther....

Until he loses his footing when the ground suddenly drops down into a great ditch and the hardened Grimm rolls ass over heels down said slope! His sudden descend comes as such a shock that he cannot even make a sound as he tumbles down.

Finally coming to a stop he sits up and shakes his head a bit dazedly.

_Damn! Where have I landed?! And who in their right mind thought it funny to place a frickin’ ditch right behind some bushes?_

There are leaves everywhere – in his hair, plastered to his face – simply everywhere! Surprisingly little mud, though, considering the general state of things.

He looks around to orientate himself and cannot help the full out grin of triumph when he notices a colourful tin box just barely visible from under another bush.

Things could have been really good, you know? Nick has found what they are searching for, he’s relatively unscathed....

... Or so he thinks until he tries to put weight onto his right foot. He barely represses a colourful curse as he crashes back down to the ground, ankle throbbing heavy as hell!

_Of course Nick, that’s what happens to cocky little Grimms who tease their boss with comments about being unfit for field work!_

He completely ignores the fact that the voice in his head sounds eerily like to Monroe.

Well, he’s left with two options now:

  1. He gives a shout to his Captain, who for once doesn’t seem to be aware of what’s going on, let’s his boss help and possibly berate (worst case) or mercilessly tease him (not really best case either).
  2. He grits his teeth, grimms up and goes on despite an obviously sprained ankle.



Nick considers that for a moment, looks from the tin box in his hand to his right ankle... and decides he doesn’t need to tell his Captain, after all.

_Track roads are all muddy and soft, anyway, I’ve been through a lot worse (always a valid excuse) and hey, what are 3 three miles, anyway? Come on, Nick, how bad can it be?_

Very bad as Nick will soon notice!!

Somehow he manages to climb back up that slope _and_ hide his discomfort from Portland’s bastard Prince. He even endures Renard’s sarcastic remark about Nick’s state of appearance in good humour.

And finally, when he shows Renard his find and the man is as fascinated as he is, he’s able to forget the crazy throbbing of his ankle for some time.

>>> 

Now, two miles walking later forgetting about pain – keeping it from showing on his face – seems an insurmountable task. He’s walking, no, limping behind the taller man, conscious to keep away from that observant gaze if he can help it.

“Nick, what is the matter?” The Captain’s smooth voice cuts through the silence that has descended over the odd pair.

“What?!” Nick’s head whips up, caught off guard. For at least half a mile he’s been plodding on, keeping his eyes to the ground, just focusing on setting one foot in front of the other.

“I asked you, what is the matter? I noticed something was off quite some time ago and wondered when you would say something.” Nick averts his gaze in embarrassment before he can stop himself, face regaining a little colour as he blushes at being found out.

“Is it so obvious?” For a moment Sean lets him stew, pins him with a stern disapproving frown.

“Actually no, but your response just cleared away my last doubts.”

The Grimm groans in frustration. It is more than a little embarrassing that the Captain managed to fool him with such an easy trick. Renard chuckles quietly.

“May it be that you are in too much pain to use your otherwise impeccable acting skills?” When Nick looks up again Renard is standing in front of him, arms crossed in front of his broad chest, putting his unfair advantage in height to good use. Green eyes lock with his own.

And suddenly the normally unflappable Grimm finds himself entrapped by that sharp gaze, by those watchful, intelligent eyes.

“Maybe you should consider telling me exactly what happened earlier while we go on.”

It is a difficult decision to make, not least because of a fair bit of hurt pride. Oh, well. _Might as well lay the cards on the table._

Nick does not give in to pain easily. On the contrary, in his years as homicide Detective and Grimm he has developed an uncommonly high pain tolerance, but after an hour of stomping through mud (which is not in the least soft but rather bitchy because it pulls at your injured ankle every time you take a step) even he is at his rope’s end.

“I would rather not... continue walking right now, that is.” This time he makes eye contact with his zauberbiest Captain deliberately. He knows that his attempt at hiding an injury out of pride backfired spectacularly but he’ll face his Captain’s judgement without fuss. If he’s done something wrong (and has gotten over his own pride and hotheadedness) he stands by his actions and answers for them.

Renard seems to be aware of his inner struggle for he waits patiently for his Grimm to come around.

“To make it short: I tumbled down a slope, twisted my ankle, didn’t say anything and most likely made it worse in the process.”

“Was it, by any chance, the steep slope I explicitly warned you about?”

“You gave a warning? I didn’t hear one....” He trails off, honest confusion on his face. Renard actually groans at that.

“Honestly, if you are focused on a task there’s no distracting you... even by issuing words of caution.”

“Well, ... Juliette once told me she finds it adorable.” He says that as if it’s a valid excuse.

“Yes. And I am sure she would have told you a lot more if it made her get the good looking guy.” The zauberbiest’s distinguished tones drip with a whole lot of derision and a small bit of teasing. Nick cocks his head to the side.

“I’m not sure, Captain, but I think there was a compliment in there somewhere.”

“I’m _very_ sure, that you must have imagined that.” His angular face is set in seriousness but even Renard cannot hide a mischievous spark lighting his eyes.

>>> 

The Captain has slung Nick’s arm around his broad shoulders to take some weight off Nick’s foot and support him while they walk. To do so, though, he has to stoop quite a bit, which makes the Grimm’s gut twist slightly with guilt.

“Are you sure you won’t get a crick in your neck doing that?”

“No I am not. And now that you are mentioning it, your lack of height _is_ a bit inconsiderate.” Sean deadpans and continues on as if they have never spoken.

>>> 

It’s some time later and honestly, Nick has never been happier to sit on the edge of a car trunk! He leans his head back against the metal framework; eyes squeezed shut, grimacing.

When Renard carefully rotates his foot to test if anything is seriously damaged, he inhales sharply.

“It’s swollen to nearly twice its size but as far I can see nothing else is wrong.”

“You have many hidden talents I see.” Nick attempts to tease but with his voice hoarse as it is it comes out rather tired. Renard humours him none the less or maybe especially because he is aware of Nick’s pain.

“Then let’s see, if my hidden talents extend to bandaging a sprained ankle or if it will look like I simply wanted to tie you to something sturdy. Nobody would question me on that after what you pulled off once out of my sight for a moment.”

Nick gives a breathless laugh.

“At least _that’s_ something a long standing police officer should be able to do. That’s no reason to actually tie me down, though...!”

He throws the other man a mock suspicious glare before focusing on those large elegant hands as they wind round after round of white gauze around his ankle.

Tying the loose ends of the bandage Renard prompts his Grimm to move with a jerk of his head.

“Hop along, Detective.” Nick looks at him incredulous.

“This, Captain, sounds so totally like some children’s dance show! Please, next time you say that, wear a bunny costume... lends it more credibility, you know?”

With 6 ft 4’ of a pissed zauberbiest glaring at his back Nick proves that he can hop quite fast on one leg as he makes his way to the passenger’s seat. The Grimm knows one thing: Even wearing a pink life sized bunny costume Captain Sean Renard could kill you with a single black stare!

“Oh, and Nick....”

“Yeees?” He draws the word out comically, slowly turning from where he’s standing with his hand already gripping the handle of the passenger door.

“I hope you are aware that you are on desk and paper work duty for the next month.”

_Damn it. And here I hoped he had forgotten about that._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another bad day for Nick... or maybe not... he's passed the day with his Captain, after all.  
> That said, I hope their more teasing relationship (not slash... sadly) still is in character enough. I try to find a line somewhere between their normal behaviour in the series and a more humorous side... O__o"
> 
> By the way, if anyone has a wish of what he/ she would like to see in future chapters, please text me, I'm always open to suggestions. ; )


	3. Home Remedies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you are sick, you should call in for sick leave instead of lying your merry way around it, otherwise you may face problems you are not prepared to deal with.  
> Or put differently: Nick's sick weekend with his Captain.

 

Home remedies:

Nick is sitting on his couch, thick scarf wrapped around his neck, feeling generally wretched. He is on sick leave – well, officially he just called in for a free day but that are technicalities.

One might ask why he hasn’t simply called in sick at work instead of asking for a day off to ‘finally sort through his belongings after his break up with Juliette.

The answer is easy:

For one Nick doesn’t want Hank and Renard to make a fuss – for surely the Captain wouldn’t leave it at a day, if he were to see how bad his Grimm Detective looked right now – and Hank would be mother-henning him no matter how inconspicuous he tries to be about it. Secondly he doesn’t want to be a bother to the others. It’s been only two months since he has been zombified, since he has killed a man and since he’s been saved by the combined effort of his friends (a group which surprisingly includes Renard by now).

He heaves a weary sigh, feeling like crap for more reasons than an achy throat.

Anyway, that’s no reason to whine! Nick steels himself into not requesting more than one day off. It’s bad enough leaving Hank with all that paper work. At least they don’t have an active case right now, so Nick's free day doesn’t interfere too much with his work life. This in turn means no questions.

So far so good. If it hadn’t been for his throat feeling stuffed with something sharp and painful Nick wouldn’t really be concerned.

He has never been one to get sick, even before coming into his Grimm powers, but it seems there's a first time for everything.

Damn his luck!

At that moment his phone rings loud and clear, making his head pound in sync with its ring tone. He grabs it and stares at the name on display:

_The Captain?_

“Burckhardt?”

“Detective. Sorry to disturb you on your free day, but I’m afraid I have to make a request.”

“Umm okay, what is it?”

He tries his best to keep from croaking... easier said than done. Damn!

“I wouldn’t ask, but I am short on officers not swamped in cases. As it is there is a congress in city hall tonight and my original personnel called in sick so I need someone to stand guard over the event. Hank already agreed to help out so you would be in good company.”

That simple request throws Nick right into a dilemma. He cannot say that he’s ill, because that would uncover his earlier lie but also he cannot refuse to help on principle. The reason for not telling anyone about being sick to _spare_ them trouble not to give them more!

“Nick?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry. Sure, I can help out. I’ll be finished sorting by tonight and mostly likely glad for a change of scenery by then, so yeah, no problem.”

“Thank you, Detective.” Renard does sound profoundly relieved.

“Is uniform required or can I come dressed as I usually do?”

A chuckle at the other end of the line.

“If by that you mean wearing one of your tight fitting, long sleeved shirts, that will surely garner attention of some of the notorious elderly ladies attending but sadly be unfitting of the occasion, then no, casual clothes won't do. A suit will be fine, though.”

The hardened Grimm blushes fiercely, clearing his throat before answering:

“I wasn’t aware that you are keeping such a close eye on what effect I have on the female population above the age of 60 but isn’t it reassuring to know that you care, Captain?”

Managing to discuss the particulars of the evening without more teasing is a major progress, although Nick has to admit that this short conversation with Renard has made him feel a whole lot better... even in prospect of doing police work on top of being ill and having to hide the fact.

>>>

Wearing a simple but elegant black suit Nick waits for the Captain to open his front door. When he does – impeccably dressed as always – the Grimm gives a lopsided grin.

“Your driver for the evening has arrived, Sir.”

His voice is a low murmur but fortunately that can be written off as mock deference befitting his role as ‘driver and guard’.

“Detective.” Renard inclines his head (or maybe he just has to look down upon Nick thanks to him being smaller) before half turning toward someone standing behind him and gesturing for that person to come forward with an elegant gesture of his hand.

“This is Eclesius Lampert, he will accompany me to the congress this evening. I trust you will keep him safe throughout.”

“Of course, Sir, I’ll do my best.” His gives a half smile inclining his head in greeting.

The man in question must surely have reached Methusalahic age, white shock of hair on his head and an intricately carved cane aiding his steps. There’s no doubt of a clever mind, though, for his eyes gleam with sharp intellect as much as good natured mirth. Nick instantly likes him as does the Captain, apparently, for he looks much less aloof than he normally does around men like these.

“Oh, don’t worry, Detective, I find that these days I’m not particularly prone to running off suddenly. It should be fairly easy to keep track of me.”

Nick gives a surprised laugh (and has to work damn hard not to groan in pain when his sore throat protests somewhat sharply).

“That’s good to know, Sir. For a moment I was worried.”

If his voice sounds slightly hoarse by now no one comments on it.

“Shall we, gentlemen? Being fashionably late is one thing, missing the entire event is another.”

“Not that it would be a great shame to miss it.”

“No, it wouldn’t be but sadly no one asks for our opinion.”

“Sean, my dear boy, what a delightful thought that would be... to have all those stuffy headed politicians actually head our advice.”

With that they depart for the car, Nick towing after them.

He thinks, while wondering if his throat attempts to end his life by committing suicide and pulling him along, that all this has been worth it, if that means hearing someone call his 6’4 unflappable zauberbiest Captain ‘my dear boy’!

>>>

While in the car Sean contemplates his Detective.

Something is off about him, though he cannot place his finger on what exactly it is. He looks pale for sure and his voice is more gravelly than normal but that might just be stress from going through things he and his fiancé took time to accumulate together over the years.

He remembers part of their earlier conversation:

“A day off, any particular reason?”

“Yes... and no... I guess I just should sort through all those boxes Juliette left behind... looking what stuff is mine, what I want to keep and so on. I thought, that now that case-wise we’re off rota for a few days, I could take the opportunity.”

Maybe Nick needs time to work through some of his grief. That would be an explanation for him sounding rather hoarse anyway....

Still, gut feeling tells him that there’s something Nick is not telling him....

He will certainly keep an eye on him tonight... as much as he will be able to what with everything else that is going on.

>>>

“Hey, partner.”

“Hey, Hank.”

There's a stretch of silence in which Nick finds himself under close scrutiny of his friend. Dark brows draw together in suspicion, forehead creasing to complete the usual expression of Hank catching on to a suspect hiding something from him.

“You didn't call in to sort through any things, did you?” He cocks his head slightly, waiting for an answer.

“Would you believe me, if I told you, that yes, I only sorted through things?” Nick doesn't even try to hide how hoarse his voice is, Hank simply knows him too well.

“Seeing that you look like you are still in zombieland and sounding like you've swallowed something that has died in some alley a long while ago, umm, no, I think not.”

“Pity.” Hank chuckles but worry still permeates his otherwise calm features.

“Let me take an educated guess: You couldn't refuse the Captain's request because that would have blown your cover?”

The local Grimm has the decency to blush.

“Jup. Do you want to tell me anything about possessing the inner eye? It is a bit creepy how accurate your guesses are.”

“Don't want to do that, but I could tell you something about shutting your mouth in order to give your sore throat a break.... Just one more thing: Did the Captain notice anything?”

Nick shakes his head with a rueful grin, not uttering a single word as per his senior partner's orders while his eyes ask, if he will tell on him. Hank sighs.

“Oh, cut the puppy dog eyes and stop worrying. Of course, I'll cover for you, partner, as long as you don't overdo it.” When Hank's tone turns just this side of stern at the end Nick silently mouths 'Mother-hen' before giving a thumbs up and a shrug that clearly says:

I'll try.

>>>

Of course, there just _had_ to be some crazy criminal hell bend on sabotaging the vote and of course, given Nick's dilemma, said criminal just _had_ to try escaping by running up three flights of stairs. Somehow, and Nick _really_ can't remember how exactly he did it, he even managed to shout out several standard police warnings and finally with the help of his partner arrested the man in question.

This has only one downside... okay, maybe two:

For one his throat is simply killing him and for a second, trying to keep from sounding like a tortoise with asthma while your Captain and his very old but very perceptive acquaintance congratulate you to an arrest well made is difficult as hell. Hank, who's standing right beside him but angled just so that Renard and Mr. Lampert cannot fully see his face, shoots him a compassionate look, which Nick appreciates and which somehow makes it possible to muster the strength of will to keep from moaning in pain (or coughing his lungs out for that matter).

They are mercifully left in peace when the vote finally commences, giving Nick the chance to give in to his earlier urges. His partner remains by his side – a silent sentinel guarding him – and takes him by the arm when his coughing fit threatens to take his legs out from under him.

“You really stepped deeply into the proverbial poo this time, didn't you?”

The Grimm can only nod, waiting for his eyes to stop streaming and breathing to feel less like he's already pushed his throat and lungs into that long dark tunnel with the light at the end.

>>>

Somehow Nick has made it back to Renard's house with him and his two-people-life-cargo still in one piece. They are saying their farewells – the youngest of the three trying to hide the decidedly sick elephant in the room – when Lampert asks, if Nick would be averse to driving him home.

“It would be my pleasure to hear a few tales told by a young, hefty Detective like you are instead of always hearing self-absorbed politicians waxing on about their achievements. This evening has been most delightful. Far better than any city hall meeting I have witnessed in a long time....” He pauses in thought.

“Except, of course, that one memorable time, when this dear man (somehow he manages to pat Renard's shoulder despite the immense height difference and Nick could swear that his Captain hunches his posture just slightly to accommodate the old man) has verbally cut that shady building contractor to pieces.”

Before Nick can even contemplate a reply Renard gently (and there's simply no other word for it) cuts in:

“As gladly as I am sure Detective Burckhardt would like to oblige your request, I think we should allow him to heed home now for some rest. After all, I pulled him from his day off.”

No matter how benign and genuine the man sounds (and probably even is) Nick knows one thing for sure: Renard has found out despite his careful handling, otherwise he would have never interfered with this.

It is something Nick has learned early on since working for Renard: He lets you make your own decisions, supporting his Detectives to be strong, self-thinking individuals, up to the point where he has absolutely no other choice than to force you to obey a decision made for you.

Without fuss – ever the diplomat and ostensibly on confident terms with the old man – he bundles Lampert off into a taxi before refocussing his attention on his wayward Detective. Nick has the feeling, though, that Lampert was far from played by Renard, that he knows quite a bit more than he lets on and that he let himself be 'deceived' by silent agreement.

If only _he_ could keep silent instead of answering what will surely be uncomfortable questions from his zauberbiest Captain!

>>>

Having Captain Sean Renard suddenly focus all of his attention, not to mention that sharp, piercing stare on you is quite impressive and creepy as hell! Nick would have swallowed thickly but even _he_ isn't that masochistic, given his current throat dilemma.

“So, when did you intent to tell me that in reality you weren't fit for doing police work and instead should have taken sick leave? And in case that needs clarifying, I talk about real sick leave, not asking to be allowed absence from work.”

The sarcasm stings....

Far more than Nick is ready to admit.

“Ummm.”

It's the most he can manage and it hurts like hell! Renard's dangerously narrowing eyes push Nick to speak up in his own defence, though, foolish as that may be: “I didn't notice how bad I felt until afterwards!”

That may be a half-truth at best but it is better than nothing.

Apparently the ruler of Portland doesn't think so because he snaps:

“With you already half asleep on your feet I wouldn't wager you did.”

He pins Nick with stern glare.

“You know what, I have changed my mind. Considering how neglectful you have been regarding your own health when there's been no reason to be, I am not giving you the choice of leaving.” Nick looks shocked.

“What... do you mean?” He blurts that out before he can think better of it and pays dearly.

_Don't you begin to whimper now, Burkhardt! Just grimm up and get over with it. It's just a bit of pain!_

“I won't have you drive anywhere or stay at your home alone when, clearly, you have already passed the limit of what your body can take.”

“Sir, really that is not necessary!” Nick is agitated by now, wants to go on persuading his Captain to let him go, but that last shout apparently was too much for his throat... or more like the _third_ 'too much' as he has clearly passed his limit quite some time ago.

There's a tickle at its back, a whole lot of pain and before he knows it he is coughing violently. Cold sweat breaks out all over his body. He can feel it at his back, making the shirt cling, at his neck and forehead.

_Damn it!!_

“Sometimes actions just speak louder than words. You are staying here tonight and that is an order.”

He's manhandled into his Captain's house even while he's still fighting to keep his lungs staying where they belong.

>>>

Nick sits on the couch, hunched over and miserable beyond belief, when Renard returns with a big mug in his hands. It's not that at this stage Nick has the presence of mind to detect the man's near silent footsteps but he's heard him mutter about stubborn, suicidal Detectives all the way to and back from the kitchen.

“Here, drink it as long its hot.” That's an order clear as day and yet the large hands wrapping his own smaller ones around the mug are gentle enough.

He doesn't even try saying thanks but simply lowers his face nearer to the steaming contents so that toasty fumes warm his aching skin. He isn't aware that he has spaced out until Renard speaks up again, voice near his ear and apparently sitting next to him on the sofa.

“I think I ordered drinking not steam bathing.” The admonishment is mild this time, mindful of Nick's growing fuzziness. The Grimm only blinks owlishly. A sigh to his left and his hands are cupped once again and the mug pushed to his lips. He doesn't have much say in the matter, expects his throat to hurt from the heat of the tea alone not to mention swallowing but the pain level is surprisingly low.

He must have made some questioning sound for Renard quietly and slowly explains:

“It is a wesen remedy. Herbal tea that soothes throat ache in particular and a bit of pain in general. It seems that being a Grimm makes you respond similarly well to this as wesen do.”

The Grimm only makes a vague humming sound while the Captain and bastard offspring of a royal line patiently feeds him the rest of his tea.

When after that Renard wants to wrap one of his expensive, heavenly soft cashmere scarves around his neck Nick opens his mouth to protest. Surely such a nice scarf shouldn't be sullied by his sweat and probably grime covered skin. Renard firmly renounces his protests, though, before Nick can even begin to argue and at the end the younger man is simply grateful for the added warmth around his neck.

>>>

Nick wakes up feeling completely wretched. If possible he’s worse now than he has been before sleeping. Not that the Captain’s tea hasn’t helped. Actually it has relieved his aches so well that he managed to fall asleep on his bosses’ couch. He cannot remember taking a blanket, though, but has a feeling who’s responsible for that. Hidden by darkness a flush creeps onto already fever reddened cheeks.

_Great Nick, not only did you practically force him to let you stay overnight, now you had him tuck you in as well._

The Grimm groans lowly at the thought only to wince when fire explodes in his throat. He forces himself not to whimper. He doesn’t want to wake Renard.

For some time Nick tosses and turns on the sofa, violent shivers wrecking his body.

_Hurts..._

His head pounds in sync with his heart, his throat is parched and feeling like he’s swallowed glass shards. He cannot get back to sleep no matter how hard he tries, so after another hour he gets up from the couch – ignores a heavy dizzy spell – and pads over to one of the large floor length windows. He doesn’t know what else to do, cannot bring himself to attempt drinking something: He lets his hands and forehead drop against cool glass, breath leaving him in a rush.

>>>

Sean goes from sleep to awareness in the space of a second. He sits up in bed, looks around, listens. Instincts honed by years on the run from his so called family warn him that something is amiss. He’s dressed in less than a minute, venturing out on silent feet. His exploration leads him to the living room, where he stops in his tracks, just observing.

Nick is silhouetted by moonlight. He is leaning against one of the large windows, his head and hands the only thing touching the glass. He sways slightly on the spot while shivers make his body quiver, visible even in nearly absolute darkness. Despite this worrying picture it is the small sounds – which Nick isn’t even aware of making most likely – the carefully measured but shuddering breaths that clue Sean in on his Detective’s state of health. He steps up to the Grimm until only a few paces are separating them. Nick gives no indication that he has heard him approach.

_No wonder, really. He looks like he’s barely able to stand._

“Nick. What is the matter?” He keeps his tone low and soft. Still the other man starts, whirls around – sways for a moment – and gasps in surprise.

“Cap..tain!”

Nick speaks before he knows what he’s doing. Pain flares again. He turns away abruptly trying to hide tears that spring to his eyes. He swallows reflexively... more pain!

_I’m so stupid! I woke him... and now I’m nearly crying._

“Nick.” There’s admonishment there. He is taken by his shoulders and turned back around. Nick doesn’t want to look at his Captain because he fears to find his thoughts confirmed but police training wins out.

What he sees when he locks eyes with the taller man takes him by surprise:

There’s no contempt, no derision but worry and stern admonishment. An expression that means: Don’t hide from me, don’t lie to me.

“Nick, why are you leaning against a window in the middle of the night? And don’t think I don’t know that you can barely keep standing.”

Silence reigns for so long that Sean nearly prompts his Grimm again but just as he opens his mouth to do so Nick speaks up... if you can call this hoarse croak that.

“Hur..ts.” That one word tells Renard all he needs to know; its mere admission speaking volumes on its own.

“Come on.” His tone is firm, not imperious and yet leaving no room for his Grimm to refuse. He takes Nick by the elbow, pulls him away from the window – steadies him when he sways for a moment – and leads him back to the couch. Nick is too weary to protest when he’s pushed back down on it and a glass is pressed into his hands shortly after.

“Drink up. A few sips at least... you need to keep your fluid levels up.”

Nick complies reluctantly. In any other situation he would have argued like the hot head he is but this is different. He’s imposing himself on Renard already, no need to make it more difficult. Violent shudders again. Pain. Cold.

“Now lie down.”

“Sir... no ne... ed to....”

“Quiet.” The man’s tone is almost gentle.

“And now do as I say. Let me see what’s wrong and how I may help you.”

Those calmly spoken words settle something in him. He sinks back into the cushions and his eyes slide shut as Renard carefully palpates his forehead, then the swollen lymph nodes near his jaw. Nick winces when the latter are touched, cannot help doing so, not at 2am after being in pain for hours. He opens tired eyes and squints up at the Captain. Soft moonlight illuminates his face.

“Hmm, sore throat, fever, swollen glands... cold shivers.”

_So warm wrappings it is._

His Captain looks contemplative, frowning a bit. With a nod to himself he rises from where he has squatted, somehow managing not to appear threatening despite the drastic height difference.

“Stay put. No getting up when you are barely able to stand, Detective.”

Now the man _does_ put some of his height to good use. Nick doesn’t react... doesn’t have to. Renard can easily read him in this state. There’s no rebellion there, only exhaustion and pain.

Sean sets to work in his kitchen after lighting an overhead light above the modern stove. He pulls out a jar of ointment base and different herbs from one of the upper cabinets. Sharp odours invade his senses, strengthened by zauberbiest sensitivity of smell. He grinds the herbs with practised ease before sprinkling them into the base. Cooking up the whole mixture only intensifies its smell just as it should. Some of his mother’s training has obviously survived the years. He inhales deeply, a rare content smile gracing his features. This would never have been his life choice for a job but that doesn’t mean he does not enjoy making one or the other remedy... or putting one to use for that matter. Under normal circumstances he wouldn't feel inclined to take care of almost anybody but as it is so often the case those rules do not apply to one Nicholas Burkhardt.

Nick listens to the sounds of his boss working. He doesn’t know what Renard is doing but he can smell herbs from his place on the couch even with his aerial ways partly blocked.

_Wonder what he’s doing._

Whatever it is, now he makes his way back over to him putting down a plate, a pot and some dish towels on the low table. The clank of metal against porcelain reverberates in Nick’s head. He isn’t aware having made a sound until Renard speaks up in a low murmur:

“Easy, there. Soon you will feel better.”

Sean spreads his slightly steaming ointment onto the width of a pristine dish towel, folds it in half length wise and takes it up. Nick’s eyes, though tired, follow his every move.

“Lift your head a bit.”

“Why... wha... zzit?”

Sean shakes his head in fond exasperation.

“I think we’ve already covered that: Quit talking and start following orders, Detective.” A spark of rebellion lights fever bright eyes but soon weariness wins out and he complies.

“Good.”

Sean wraps the cloth snugly around his Grimm’s neck, keeping a careful eye on him to gauge his reaction. He knows exactly when the warm ointment has fully seeped through the thin fabric and touches Nick’s throat. At first there’s a small sound of surprise and for a moment Nick grows tense before finally he relaxes in a boneless heap.

That strong smell of herbs invades Nick’s nostrils again as something warm and slightly sticky touches the skin of his neck and throat. At first he doesn’t know what to make of it, anticipates pain which must surely flare up soon, then toasty warmth seeps in.

Feeling as shivery as he does this is heaven! His eyes close on their own accord, he cannot help it. Renard wraps another cloth and finally the cashmere scarf from earlier around his neck and this time Nick lets it happen without protest. After the last hours this feels wonderful.

The zauberbiest watches tension bleed out of Nick’s shoulders with a certain degree of pride. This is his work. He has made the Grimm relax... alleviated some of his pain.

“You... good a' this. How come?”

“You shouldn't be talking at all but I'll make an exception this once and answer your question.”

“I was taught by my mother, who was a healer.”

For once the Grimm obeys, so instead of talking he just makes a face of surprise and appreciation before closing his eyes again.

>>>

A cold compress is already placed on Nick's forehead when at last Sean takes up a small flask. Unscrewing its cap and putting his index finger on top of the opening he flips it upside down so that a bit of its content clings to his finger and starts gently dabbing the oil onto Nick’s temples.

The Grimm starts at the sudden sensation of cold! Grey eyes fly open and veer to his Captain.

“Just peppermint oil. Take a deep breath. You’ll find it helps your headache.”

Nick takes in a lung full of fresh minty scent. He relaxes at once. He likes peppermint... has always done so. How Renard knows he isn’t sure but it helps lessen the deep ache pounding in his head.

“Go to sleep. You need it.”

…

“This time I will watch over you.”

Those last words are spoken in a low murmur, most likely not meant for him to hear but Renard hasn’t taken Grimm hearing into account.

Those words, they are as much warning as they are a promise. He hears what the man doesn’t say, cannot say, maybe:

Don’t jeopardise your health again in that way. Trust me, I’ll take care of everything.

It doesn’t take long for his Grimm Detective to lose the battle against sleep. He’s out even before Sean takes up the first and then a second woollen blanket and covers him up tightly.

>>>

By mid-morning – Nick safely ensconced on the couch – Sean excuses himself to take a shower and change clothes. The Grimm thinks vaguely that even if the man wouldn't do any of those things right now he would still be fit to attend a high end dinner party.

_Maybe it's got something to do with royal blood... or maybe Renard simply isn't from this world..._

So it is with a mirthful grin that Nick waves his Captain to do that.

“Stay put, Detective.”

“Will do.” That's still on the croaky side of life but much better than before.

He's generally feeling much better than the night before, anyway. Renard's home remedies (there's no other ways to call them) have helped a great deal thus leaving the Grimm still puffy eyed and nosed but less on the verge of dying from throat suicide.

With the man away he looks around idly, taking in the house's interior for the first time. It looks decidedly high end but somehow Renard has managed for it not to seem braggy. It all shows wealth and class but in a quiet unobtrusive way. Nick turns another one of the big mugs around in his hands while his gaze strays to the floor length living room windows, to a fantastic view... and to three ugly smears on otherwise impeccable glass.

 _Urghh! And don't I have a feeling how those came to be there?_ He thinks with a fair bit of self-depreciating irony.

An inner struggle begins about if he should stay on the couch like the Captain said or take a rag to those smears....

Rag and smears win. He's a good Detective but nobody ever said he's the most obedient one!

>>>

Sean enters the main room to a peculiar squeaky sound. Next he notices the couch to be vacated. A blood vessel begins to tick somewhere above his left temple.

_Just what is he doing?_

He steps further into the room. That squeaky sound again.

_What the hell...?!?_

“Detective Burckhardt, have the courtesy of telling me what you are _doing_ there!”

While there has been everything from gentleness to stern admonishment yesterday, there's only exasperation now.

Before now the Grimm has been calmly standing directly in front of the window, mug held in left hand while his right – adorned with a rag from the kitchen – cleans away at a small spot on the window pane. Hearing his bosses' words he whirls around, facing the man in all his red eyed, snotty nosed glory. His scarf is still wrapped tightly around his neck while his hair still looks like it's meet the wrong end of a ventilator.

To his defence, at least Nick has the decency to blush... but that maybe only an effect accompanying his next words:

“I noticed I have left... marks on the glass... last night... that's disgusting so I thought I would clean them away.”

Renard steps up to him, glowering down at his from over his aquiline nose. It's a tiny bit – okay large bit – impressive that he's staring flat at the man's shirt clad chest instead of his face.... Damn overly tall persons!

“No, you won't!” The rag is unceremoniously plucked from his fingers.

“Really, you are the worst sick person I know!! You will not _clean_ , you will not _do the dishes_ or _cook_ , you will get back to that sofa at once and do _nothing at all!_ ”

Nick opens his mouth, most likely for some flippant remark but Renard mercilessly cuts across:

“ _No_ , attempts at humour are not appreciated right now!”

The Grimm closes his mouth with a snap and a pout.

“Consider yourself banned to the couch until further notice.... And if I sound like a parent berating a wayward toddler, maybe you should think intensively about why that is. And now go.”

Severely scolded – and touched by this man's concern more than he is able to process – Nick retreats to the couch and for the rest of his 'sick weekend with his Captain' he's a nice little patient, making for a surprisingly comfortable time for both of them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha, that was fun to write!! Hope you had as much fun reading it.


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